


things we do at night

by dandelionslute



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, M/M, sleepy jaskier loving geralt, thigh humping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionslute/pseuds/dandelionslute
Summary: Jaskier can't always control himself in his sleep.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 199





	things we do at night

They’ve been riding for days with no real purpose, no monsters in sight and certainly no towns in which they might be hired. They’ve not been talking much, not since The Incident, Jaskier’s begun calling it i his head. Or maybe it should be Incident _s._ I mean, how was he supposed to know what he’d been up to in his sleep? It wasn’t like he could control himself when lost in the deep unconscious of slumber. He had no idea how long he’d been doing it. Days, maybe? A week? Weeks? _God_ , he think-groans, _I’m a mess._ Maybe it was just a product of Geralt being the only other person he’d really seen - heard - thought of - for, well.. it seems like forever.

Jaskier remembers hazy snippets, of waking up with arms tangled around Geralt. With thighs pressed against thighs; Jaskier’s face lost deep in the crook of Geralt’s neck, hair tickling his cheeks. Why does Geralt not say anything? Maybe it’s easier to not bring it up, have it out in the open. Well, it is now, since Jaskier woke up not two nights ago with hot hands all but slipped inside Geralt’s shirt. Jaskier rolls his eyes at his own foolishness.

They ride for a few more hours until the sun sets and they set up camp for the night, tying Roach up and Geralt heads down to the river to wash up. They still don’t say much to one another, a few superficial comments from Jaskier about being tired and having sore legs and just complaining in general, which Geralt doesn’t tease him for. Jaskier is only human, afterall.

It feels like hours have passed since Jaskier lay down and all he can do i stare at the stars. History tells him what will happen if he falls asleep again. Geralt lays beside him, asleep, on their small, thin, straw stuffed mattress. Jaskier tosses and turns, but eventually, his eyes grow heavy and his legs grow still and he drifts into the alluring pull of sleep.

*

His eyes blink open and _god_ what time is it? It’s still pitch black. Roach sleeps soundly not far away, and the sound of nature around them tells him it’s still either very late, or very early. His awareness comes to his body and his heart sinks because of course he’s laying on his side with his right arm and leg draped over Geralt’s back, Geralt’s stomach face down into the ground.

Jaskier can’t ignore the sweat bead lingering on his eyebrow, about to fall, nor the heat prickling his skin all over. Jaskier knows he shouldn’t, but he’s only human afterall, and in a moment of weakness he pushes his crotch against Geralt’s leg, gently, so as to not wake the witcher.

It’s all Jaskier can do to not groan because he hasn’t felt that in so long, by his counting. That pressure on his body and that excited tingle in his lower belly and, to be quite frank, that little jump in his crotch accompanied by a racing heart. He should stop, but he doesn’t, and he’s all but dry humping Geralt’s leg because they’ve come this far, what the fuck does he have to lose?

He’s frustrated, and his upper lip twitches and he’s panting just a little and he doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s doing, but it feels good. What’s his end goal here? Should he run off into the woods and rub hands on himself, or does he plan on continuing his attack on Geralt’s thigh until he’s wet in his trousers? Jaskier doesn’t get to think much else about it, because he brings his attention back to Geralt’s face and finds him _very much not asleep,_ but instead, golden eyes are piercing his.

“Fuck”, Jaskier whispers and throws his body backwards, away from Geralt, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he stammers, breath catching in his throat. Geralt’s still laying on his chest but his eyes follow Jaskier’s every moment. “I’m only human, afterall,” Jaskier breathes and Geralt can tell he’s trying to break the tension.

“Hmm, human?” Geralt mutters, rolling from his chest to his back and staring into the night. “You don’t think I like to fuck, too?”

“Well, ah, no. I mean yes. Yes I’m sure you do,” Jaskier licks his lips, trying to calm down.

Geralt seems far too calm about this whole situation. Jaskier was all but violating his leg, and Geralt’s just laying here looking at the fucking stars.

“Geralt, I’m-”

“Don’t,” Geralt says, _and has his voice always been that deep_ , Jaskier wonders. 

Geralt turns his head to the side and looks at Jaskier, studying him, taking in his sleep-dishevelled, catching his breath, slowing his heart, shaking body and sighs. Humans. So complicated, always have been. But Jaskier… both the most complicated and least he’s ever met.

He pushes himself up with his hands and sits for a moment before quickly crawling to the bard and his body overshadows, overpowers, Jaskier, large hugs tugging him underneath Geralt’s body and Jaskier is too worked up and stunned to do anything.

Geralt sticks his thigh between Jaskier’s again and presses, almost too hard. “I believe you were in the middle of something?” he says with a low, rough voice, and Jaskier, confused but eagerly, obliges and continues.

**Author's Note:**

> there will probably be more of this


End file.
